Anno Domini 1257
by ChipmunkChronicler337
Summary: The mid-13th century. It is a time of enlightenment in a dark age. Chivalry is in its golden age. The balances of feudalism threaten to crumble under the increasing ambitions of powerful figures. The conscience of men struggles against the Church's doctrines. Battles are fought in the name of God or Allah. Can love prevail in the face of an unforgiving world? **CGI VERSION**
1. Anno Domini 1257

_The year of our Lord, Anno Domini 1257._

* * *

England is bracing itself for another civil war since the Magna Carta.

Henry III has failed to quell his rebellious nobles and has succeeded in forcing increased tax for his campaigns. He stretches their patience, and now it has snapped.

Across the Channel, the powerful and wealthy kingdom of the fleur-de-lis has recently been tamed by the Muslim warriors to the East. The flower of French nobility - it's proud force of armour-clad knights, well-feared and respected throughout Europe, now lie rotting and rusting amongst each other in the desert sands.

The icy realm of the Kievan Rus and its Slavic neighbours have come under constant raids by Asiatic horsemen under Ogedei Khan, who seeks to expand his father's legacy.

A great fire is sweeping across Europe. The mother will become the widow. The son will become the orphan. The rich will become the desperate.

The commoner will become the bandit.

And the bandit will become the hero.


	2. Found You

It was the last time he ever saw her.

His companion.

His best friend.

His joy.

His world.

Sure, there were times when she did not exactly fulfill the characteristics of what a perfect world would be for him, but she was nevertheless everything he had left.

Other than his insatiable pride, of course. But even that, he owed to her.

The young chipmunk stood atop the cold, damp drawbridge as he watched the escorts and their horses disappear into the morning fog. Another chilling gust of wind greeted him, drying up the tears welling in his eyes and ruffled his chestnut hair.

He shook slightly, trying to keep warm and sniffed before turning around and back within the gates. The inner walls of Chester Castle towered before him, now but a mere shade of grey and lifelessness. Sorrow continued to grip his heart and mind in a vice as he entered the massive courtyard, his light footsteps making small splashes on the puddles of water that covered the coarse, stone ground.

_Had it always been this rough?_

His ears lowered as a single tear found its way from his right eye and down his rounded, furry cheek as he brought his head up to look at a row of trees standing by the side of the courtyard.

A slight smile began to form on the corners of his mouth just as the tear left his face.

* * *

_A fluffy, chipmunk pup waddled quickly around the tree trunks and past orchid bushes as he searched for his playmate._

_"I know you're in there!"_

_Though very young, his senses were considerably refined. He was drawn to the unique scent of his hiding playmate just as easily as a bee is to honey._

_The bush shook a little, and an unmistakable sound of giggling came from it._

_"You might as well come out," he sighed "spare yourself the shame of being found."_

_Just as soon as he had completed his sentence, she emerged from the bush._

_"Shame? You think I'm ashamed?" she squeaked, pointing a weak finger at his chest with a sly smile "I'll show you whose turn it is to be ashamed."_

_She she turned to face a tree and covered her eyes with her paws._

_His eyes immediately darted around the courtyard to try and spot a good hiding place, before again resting on the chipette. Beauty and innocence in itself._

_His eyes scanned her lower half. She still had some of her baby fur in darker tufts over her original light, golden brown fur. She wore a loose, white cotte which covered her arms and flailed freely with the wind._

_He slowly shifted his gaze upwards. Time seemed to slow, as he felt a warm breeze sweep through the area and watched it weave through her flawless self. Her silky, auburn hair danced along with it and shone in the sunlight as the flower wreath she was wearing clung on._

_She turned to face him, and already he was struck early by her captivating stare. The crystal blue of her eyes almost seemed to swirl with liquid grace. They were matched almost perfectly by an insanely cute nose line which ended in a protruded dot of pink. Her lips had a sweet, fruity aura to it that spread as she smiled at him.._

_Closer... closer.._

_A paw dabbed his nose, and he flinched back into sense._

_"Found you!"_


	3. Band of Brothers

The four huddled close to the warmth the fire could spare them. Their haggard silhouettes were hunched and heavy. Their breathing was slow and worn.

The haven port of Calais was only a day and a half away by foot, and if their calculations were right, they would set foot on English soil again by the end of the week. With the bustling city of Amiens behind them, they were left to the mercy of the unforgiving French winter and the unexpected dangers of the road.

A brigand's eyes are sharp, but his logic weak. For this, many met their fate by the sword. One would think that a glimpse upon the tabards of these stout chipmunks bearing the Templar Cross would be enough for a fool to reconsider the loot. Those days were behind them.

For the past century, short-lived victories in the Holy Land against the insurgent Turks had given all of Christendom a lesson in humility. However, those returning from Crusade found their European homelands ravaged by internal power struggles and civil wars. Nobles and important members of the ruling classes awaiting ransom at the hands of the Turks could do nothing but watch their subjects tear themselves apart. Owing to this, many who had taken up the cross were leaving their posts and beginning the long journey home to see to their families and estates.

Although resentment and distrust among the French nobility grew towards the Templar Order, these particular band of dusty and tired chipmunks had nearly made the journey home without much hindrance.

* * *

"Catch."

The skinny chipmunk held a cracked nut in his paw and prepared to toss. The knight beside him held out a mail-clad paw in response.

"With your mouth, idiot."

"Agh!" the knight grunted and gave the young troubadour a shoo-ing motion "Keep your damn nuts."

"Have some sense of fun, Baldwin." he replied, and flicked the nut into his own open mouth. "I thought knights were supposed to love life as much as ending them for others."

"Okay, we're not knights." the older chipmunk across him said. "We've been trying to tell you that since Jerusalem."

"Aye!" Baldwin said "And what's a singing disaster like you doing in the middle of a desert, anyway?"

The wandering troubadour stuck a paw into his side pouch and plopped another two nuts into his mouth.

"Crusading."

Baldwin raised his eyebrows.

"Crusading?! Cru.." he shook his head and started patting him down. "Edwin my dear minstrel, I'm sorry but there is absolutely nothing.. about you.. that's sharp and pointy-edged."

He tapped the boy's head. "Not even your brain!"

"Leave him alone, Baldwin." the older chipmunk said, inspecting his sword.

"We should have done that months ago."

The group settled down into another long silence. Edwin looked over at John, who was the oldest and most experienced in terms of military service. His years showed on his drooping eyelids and a few battle-scars on his left cheek. He had lost his helmet countless times in combat, even having to resort to a Saracen one at one point. However, the most distinctive feature was that of a missing ear. That, Edwin owed him greatly.

Then, there was the sleeping figure of William, snoring into the night. A longbow lay by his side , along with a quiver of self-made arrows. He was a very quiet chipmunk, much in contrast to his hearty, mead-loving companions. His training and services as a scout had probably taught him the way of senses before words, of swift action before arrogance. They could relate very well with each other, in fact, and it was his idea that allowed Edwin to tag along with the group. Not only firm in character, William exuded a unique charm through his looks and physique, along with a clever way with few words.

Unknown to most, William had told Edwin of a local chipette he had met during his time as a sentry in Acre, a few months before he found the company of John and Baldwin. Dark brownish-red fur, oiled and perfumed body, big alluring eyes and a sensual air about her. Acquaintance quickly turned to steamy romance, and the two would make sweet love every week while the city's inhabitants tried to sleep through every night with constant fears of a Saracen attack.

_"We would lose ourselves in our afterglow." he had told Edwin "For that night, for every night we were together, we would forget about the world. We forgot about war. We forgot about Saracen and Crusader. All we knew was each other."_

When asked about why he didn't settle longer with her, his chin quivered and he became speechless, staring into space. His breathing seemed to stop.

_"They killed her." he said, tears streaming, paws to his aching heart "The Teutonics by the port accused her of stealing a crate. They tied her to it and pushed her into the water, and they call themselves Crusaders! The Saracens, in all their hate, have better hearts!"_

_"I told her to leave the door unlocked that night. I... I told her we would be at peace again."_

_He paused for a minute and looked up._

_"She's at peace now."_

It was also from then onwards that he began to speak very little about his time in Acre, and the events leading up to it, which was most likely why he had seen something in Edwin that would help him open a new chapter in life. Edwin was an easygoing chipmunk. He had a sense of humor that could adapt - a skill sadly undervalued by most. He reacted to most matters in a light and carefree manner - he could help William forget about the past and think about home again.

Edwin could not remember anymore. He was asleep.


	4. My Champion

He pushed her against the carpeted wall, a burning desire churning through their rubbing bodies. She raised a paw to caress his neck, but he gripped her wrist and pinned it assertively against the wall. Their tongues wrestled furiously with each other, light strands of saliva bonding their panting mouths whenever they parted.

"Ri.. Richard..."

He presses his lips against hers yet again, forcing a moan out of her as his powerful hands proceeded to caress her waist through the thin silk material that covered her slender, fragrant body. She moaned and panted, her own paws pressing against his bare, sculpted chest, reveling in the warmth of his dark-grey fur and the firmness of his muscle. Their lips parted, only to have him take her neck with renewed desire, planting warm kisses all the way up her soft cheeks to her ear.

"I will conquer all of you this night." he whispers "I will ensure my bed is soaked with the sweet juices of your desire."

He pushes a portion of her long, beautiful auburn hair back and the dim candlelight revealed her strong state of arousal. He looks down at her feminine chest, nipples erected and grazing against her gown in lustful anticipation.

"Brittany, my lady. You will not suppress anything before me. I will hear you submit."

With a powerful animalistic grunt, he takes her left nipple in the warm wetness of his talented tongue.

"Ah!"

She threw her head back against the wall, eyes shut and with both paws around his head, pressing him against her chest. He continued to swirl the hardened nub, soaking the portion of her gown in his warm saliva while snaking his hand under her gown and caressing the length of her back. She moaned and shuddered in out-worldly jolts of pleasure.

He moved his hands from her back to her belly, slowly lifting her loose gown and nearly sending her over her limits of anticipation, knowing she was going to be bare before him and would soon be fully dominated by his strength. He rubbed and squeezed her belly softly, feeling it rise and fall with her breathing, running his hands through her smooth, glossy fur.

"You want to release for me already, my sultry beauty. Don't worry, I will make it happen."

He went back to her ear, "Again, and again."

Brittany shuddered with excitement at the thought and soon-to-be reality, until she opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of a rosary crucifix hanging out from the edge of a table.

"Oh, Richard!" she said in an alarmed tone "We have sinned greatly!"

Even in his strong, sexual drive, Richard knew exactly why she had suddenly broken the mood. Although they had met every year since they were pups, they were not yet married. The Church had strictly shunned fornication, and as one about to be knighted, Richard knew he should have known better than to give in so easily to lust. He slowly withdrew his hands from her and placed them on her shoulders, both of them still breathing heavily from the recent activity.

"Brittany, you know... that I'll never disrespect you. If you do not wish to continue.." he was cut off, and there was a look of realization and guilt in his eyes.

She felt sorry for having to bring his advances to an abrupt halt, and she knew her body still betrayed her conscience. But of all, her vow to stay pure before marriage was one to keep.

"I... do not." she said softly "But know that I still love you!"

That seemed to compensate. Richard's face lit up and they stared lovingly into each other's eyes, before he cupped her face in his paws and brought himself to her lips once more. He then broke away and stroked her cheek.

"Do you want to retire to your chambers?"

"Oh, no." she replied "I intend to dream tonight with your arms around me. I have waited too long to be by your side."

He thought for a moment, fearing his instincts would overcome him again when he would embrace and bring her smooth, near-exposed body against his while they slept.

"Your wait was not in vain." he said, smiling.

He had also looked forward with much fondness for this treasured moment, ever since he laid eyes on Brittany when she arrived at Chester Castle on her move from her estate in crowded London. He may have been very young at the time and inexperienced in emotions, but he had felt a connection between the two of them. He was not spared from the occasional pangs of jealousy, however, as he would often see her in the company of Alvin, his cousin.

However, the years passed. Maturity set in, and he could see that Brittany, too, was beginning to discover herself not only as a woman of nobility, but also as a future wife and mother. Her once childish behavior with Alvin soon began to cease. She spent her teen years with much more alone time with Richard, whom she felt had so much experience in him, for he was much older than Alvin. Years of knightly discipline in preparation for chivalry and diligent exercise had molded his muscles firm and tested, and his face masculine. When asked by Richard to clear his doubts, she told him that Alvin was a good "introduction to the world" for her and a younger friend, but Richard would be her exceptional, her champion.

Now, as fully grown chipmunks, marriage was in serious consideration for the two and their respective Houses. It was a rarity in their society that two families could arrange a union between two beings who would not only strengthen their Houses, but also who loved each other dearly.

Only a few weeks ago, when she had finally decided to move from Chester Castle to Richard's newly inherited castle in York, the both of them knew the day when they would be wed was finally in sight.

_"I should write my cousin an invitation."_ he thought _"Surely he'll be overjoyed for us."_

There was a harsh knocking on the door.

"Sir! An urgent message from your uncle!"

Richard grabbed his woolen shirt from a chair and quickly put them on, while Brittany proceeded to sit on the bed. He opened the door halfway, and Brittany could see the two of them hastily discussing over something. After about a minute, the courier left and Richard walked over to her while reading from the parchment, mouthing the words in silence. He stopped in his tracks.

"How?" he said to himself, eyes scrolling the text "How was this possible?!"

He looked over at Brittany's concerned face, and then back at the message. Without another word, he turned to the table and unsheathed his sword with one hand, sending the sheath flying across the room. He bolted out the door and after the courier.

"Halt!"


	5. Love Her

"Nock!"

"Draw!"

"Loose!"

At the Sergeant's command, the men released their strings and sent another flight of arrows into the bleak, morning sky and down onto an open pasture. They barely even had time to observe their shot.

"Nock!"

A few dropped their arrows, hands trembling.

"Draw!"

Some had fitted their arrows to the strings with professional ease, while others bent down to pick up their dropped arrows.

"DRAW!"

Alvin watched from the battlements as the Sergeant quickly walked over to one of the panicking archers and slapped him on his arm, before taking a few steps back and examining the line.

"Loose!"

They did so, most remaining in their stances to try and follow the flight of their shot.

"Come on, come on! Repeat!" the Sergeant barked, walking back and forth with crossed arms.

"Feel it in your shoulders! Feel it in your neck! Form!" he continued "And don't waste my arrows! They're probably worth a lot more than you are!"

The young chipmunk couldn't understand why these men would be so willing as to endure the extra labour of archery. Sure, the King's order was one thing, but the prospect of death on the battlefield? These peasants looked half-dead already from years of field labour. Wasn't that way of life burdensome enough?

A flock of birds scattered from the field, fleeing the arrows.

Besides, the honour of taking the field and winning battles was one reserved for knights. No mere footman nor archer could stand up to the years of skill and dedication of any one knight, or so he was taught. Chivalry demanded it. Only 66 years ago, a single charge had effectively turned the tide of battle at Arsuf, amidst constant harassment by Muslim archers from the flanks. He had read in the great chronicles that even the footmen were ordered to give way as the knights were behind them in formation.

"How's your arm?"

Alvin was so deep in thought that he didn't notice his uncle, Edward, walk up beside him.

"My arm?" he replied.

"A longbow needs a good arm," Edward said, as he watched the men release another volley "and a good eye."

"My eyes are fine."

Edward laughed heartily, and placed a gloved paw on Alvin's back. "Then we should go hunt sometime! I hear the King's forests always provide plenty of game."

"And plenty of robbers." Alvin said.

Edward studied his nephew. He'd noticed a considerable change in Alvin's general mood, and that had remained no secret to the other household members, either. They had agreed on silence towards this matter, but he knew Alvin was not yet a man, and as such, pressing issues could easily take a toll on his being.

"What's the matter?" he asked, rubbing a paw on Alvin's head.

Alvin sighed in frustration and forcefully moved his head away. "I'm not a pup anymore." he said, looking his uncle in the eye before turning and proceeding down the steps.

"Is it the weather?" Edward called out, sticking out both arms as if checking for rain. "No, it's.. it's... the food! Heh, I always knew the chefs were up to something!"

His nephew paid no heed, scurrying across the courtyard and into the main keep.

* * *

The great doors slammed shut behind him.

_"No one understands me."_ he thought, storming through the grand hallway. Portraits and depictions of his ancestors and their deeds looked on emotionlessly.

"Not even you!" he shouted at them.

Alvin turned into a side room, containing a portion of the castle's archives. A guard was looking up at the towering bookshelves, most likely trying to spot a good read. If not for the single ray of light that shone through from the window slit at the far end of the room, Alvin would never have seen him.

"Does Edward pay you for this?!"

The guard spun around, stunned.

"Out, out! Get out!" Alvin ordered, motioning at the door impatiently.

The terrified chipmunk quickly exited the area, eyes fixed to the ground.

Alvin sighed heavily and proceeded to the window, where he pulled a chair and sat facing it. The sun had not appeared yet, and the room was only illuminated by the bluish-grey of day. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Of all the rooms and chambers in the castle, none had succeeded in giving him a deep sense of peace quite like the archives did. Over the years and centuries, books and manuscripts accumulated to complement the growing and already illustrious history of his bloodline.

His great-great grandfather had served King Harold Godwinson as a housecarl - a personal bodyguard sworn to protect the King until death. He fulfilled that oath at Hastings, and was immortalized in various manuscripts illuminated beautifully by monks who never wanted the people to forget their Anglo-Saxon heritage. Alvin would read and plunge himself into recent and ancient history - holy books about the lives of Jesus Christ and His Apostles, manuscripts about the past Kings of England and their successes and failures, tales about feudalism, about the Crusades, and about chivalric love.

Love.

His head flinched as he tried to shake off the thought.

_"No, please, no."_ he thought, losing his inner battle.

His heart joined in the fray, and he gave in to the overwhelming forces of love. No, unrequited love. His eyes were brimming with tears, his heart was being gripped like a slave. She had left him burning with a self-consuming desire for no other chipette but her. He got off the chair and fell to his knees in defeat.

He was ready. He was ready to give her everything. He was ready to live by her, to grow old with her, and if possible, to kiss her and tell her that they would meet again in Heaven. He could not see a future now. There was nothing left. He would die alone, and would have no place in her mind nor her heart.

"It's the girl, isn't it?"

He sniffed and looked to his side, quickly wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

"No... it's..." he stammered, trying to look indifferent "of course not."

He rubbed his eyes again, trying to hold back against the merciless surge of emotions.

Edward chuckled and knelt beside him, putting his arm around the shoulder of the lovelorn chipmunk.

"Alvin, I have raised you like one of my own." he said softly "I gave your mother my word before she died."

His nephew was shaking and sobbing, with both paws on the cold, stone floor.

"And I know when you're lying." he continued "Especially when it involves matters of the heart."

He did not need Alvin to respond. He could very well see his struggle against a very unforgiving enemy.

"I love... I love her, Uncle." Alvin finally confessed between sniffs "There's no... other way I can... put it."

"Love is love, Alvin. There is no other way to put it." Edward said, patting him softly.

"Chivalry, Alvin." he continued "One loves even when all love seems impossible, because his lady is nevertheless his in thought, and in heart."

Alvin seemed to relax a little, although he still had his head hung down in hopelessness.

"One continues to strive for her, to fight for her name and honour, even though she refuses to see him nor to pay him any heed." he went on, and placed his paw on Alvin's chin, raising it up slowly "Because that is the only way love can exist. One has to love beyond all doubt. So love her, Alvin. Do not take shame in it. Love her."

For the first time in what seemed forever, Alvin tried to smile. It didn't seem to matter to Edward that he might be forcing it. All that mattered was that he did.

"Love her."


	6. Settling Our Differences

They trudged along the damp undergrowth, covering their bodies with cloaks to keep from freezing. Their heavy chain-mail rattled with every labored movement of their limbs, only made worse by the weight of the shields slung around their backs. The fog from previous days had shown no sign of clearing, and they were forced to meander their way through the dense woods.

"We should get back to the path." Baldwin said, stepping over an exposed root.

William coughed.

"This is the path." John replied. He held his sword on his shoulders, as it had obstructed his walking when worn around the waist.

There was a splash as Baldwin stepped into a deep puddle camouflaged by the undergrowth. The group looked back at him.

"Damn." he muttered, feeling the sudden cold seep into his boots and wet his fur. "Bloody swamps."

"This isn't a swamp, Baldwin." William chuckled.

"Oh, you would know, scout."

* * *

They continued along the seemingly endless maze of trees, bushes and the occasional respite of open spaces. At times, they could've sworn hearing the muffled sound of hooves, but it would always fade just before any action could be taken. The young troubadour staggered at the back of the line, trying to keep up with the Crusaders. He volunteered to carry most of their supplies, and had even offered to bear their swords before they left camp, but an unpredictable wanderer bearing arms didn't seem to paint a pretty picture in Baldwin's mind.

"Ah," William said, raising his hand "there it is again."

"What?"

"Sshhh!"

The four stopped in their tracks, just before reaching another clearance. The unmistakable sound of horses had reached their ears again, this time accompanied by the faint voices of men conversing. They squinted into the distance, trying to see past the fog.

"There!" Baldwin pointed ahead "Coming right at us!"

"Swords!"

The three chipmunks drew their swords, throwing down their cloaks. They had sold their helmets for food weeks ago, right after arriving in Marseilles. Baldwin pressed a paw against the troubadour's chest.

"Stay back," he said "or you'll never live to sing about this."

The figures appeared in the fog before them, some holding up torches and some with lances. There could easily be ten of them. The horsemen slowed down as they approached the combat-ready Crusaders. They turned out to be men-at-arms, noticeable by their plain mediocre armour and plain-saddled horses. The rider beside the lead chipmunk****** held a standard bearing the fleur-de-lis, the coat of arms of France. The lead knight himself could not be seen, as he had a full helm on. He tilted his head a bit, studying the Templars.

"Parlez-vous français?" he asked sternly, his voice muffled by his helmet.

John looked back at his men and nodded, before sheathing his sword.

"Allemand?" the knight continued "Parlez!"

"Quit your barking and state your intentions!" Baldwin groaned, stepping forward to the mounted knight. John quickly placed a firm paw on his shoulder.

"Baldwin, please."

He then turned to face the knight.

"Forgive my brother." he said calmly "We are Englishmen. We only seek to return home."

The knight's tail flailed from side to side slowly as he surveyed William and the troubadour. He then lifted his helmet up a little to scratch his cheek, before looking back down at John.

"By order of King Louis IX of France, this road is closed to all from this day forth!" he said, projecting his voice with commanding confidence. "I must ask you and your men to go back."

"I think you should heed your own words." Baldwin said, jabbing a finger at him.

The knight gripped the hilt of his sword, staring at the grumpy Templar through the two dark slits of his helm. His horse bucked slightly, sensing the growing tension.

"So what they say about your people is true." he scoffed "Truly, the dregs of humanity. Unable to take simple orders."

"You dare threaten a fellow Christian?!"

"Baldwin! To the back!" John ordered, motioning with his head. "Just another word from you!"

Baldwin kept his eyes fixed on the knight, trying to convey as much frustration and hate as possible before reluctantly stepping backwards. He walked over to William, who was watching the scene along with a somewhat indifferent chipmunk, who had dropped the sacks of equipment and was leaning against a tree.

"You'll see where softness gets him." he muttered to William as he passed him.

John sighed, and focused once again on the knight, who seemed rather pleased at his 'victory' over a troublesome Englishman. He shifted to a more upright posture in his saddle and removed his hand from his sword.

"Sir," John said "we are only humble servants of the Lord, heading to Calais."

"I am very well aware of your Order," the knight said "but nevertheless I must ask you to go back. If you refuse, it is in my power to lead you out of here myself, with swords at your back."

John looked away and pondered for a moment.

"I trust you are a man of reasonable judgment." the knight continued, arms crossed "Don't make it any harder for the both of us."

"Don't you see?" Baldwin called out from the back "This little boy is having his fun by kicking innocent travelers about!"

"Oh? Perhaps you need constant reminding as to whose kingdom you currently set foot on." the knight said "And might I inform you that only.. boys... need constant reminding."

His men chuckled, some of them pointing at Baldwin.

"We will go. Have no worries." John finally said.

The knight then began to move his horse onwards slowly. He bent downwards to face John properly.

"Even if you decided not to, I will have no worries." he said, before speeding up to a trot, and then galloping away.

The rest of his men-at-arms followed him, their horses kicking up weeds and water that splattered on the Templars as they galloped through their line. The last rider to pass looked at Baldwin and took a small pouch of coins from his saddle, tossing it at him. A final insult, in truth.

"Devils!" Baldwin shouted after them.

They waited until the men had ridden off to a considerable distance before slowly resuming their journey. The young troubadour bent down to pick up their equipment, with William helping. As Baldwin turned around to follow, his neck was forcibly seized by an enraged John. He felt himself being pushed backwards until he was pinned to a tree trunk. Both chipmunks were breathing erratically and audibly.

"Do you want to get us killed, Baldwin?!" he said roughly.

Baldwin chuckled as he struggled with John's unwavering grip.

"You looked like his wife out there." he mocked "You, of all people!"

With a powerful roar, Baldwin shoved off his superior, who fell backwards with a grunt. Baldwin wasted no time in positioning himself above John, whose reactions had become much slower with age. Baldwin himself had briefly remembered a time when a Saracen was doing the same move against John, only to have ended up with a sword through his gut.

"We could have been at Calais by tomorrow!" he said "We SHOULD have been!"

He landed a solid punch on John's already scarred face, followed by another, and another. Just as he went for another blow, another pair of arms grabbed him by the waist from behind, pulling him to the ground.

"Get off me, scout!"

John struggled to stand, as the troubadour rushed to help him up. When he was up, he spat out some more blood and wiped his mouth.

"Learn well from our mistakes, boy." he said, panting "Be a better man than all of us."

He then drew his sword and pointed it at Baldwin's neck, who looked up at him and stopped his struggle against William.

"You know better than to needlessly risk the lives of your brethren, Baldwin." he said in a low but firm voice "You give me no choice but to treat you like a child."

William got up, leaving Baldwin on the ground.

"We are Templars! All of Europe looks to us as examples! As men! Not a rabble of self-centered ignorants!" he continued "Non nobis Domine, non nobis."

Baldwin seemed to calm down a little, slowly relaxing his muscles and bringing himself to sit upright. John still held the sword at his neck.

"I will hear you complete it, Baldwin." he said "Non nobis Domine, non nobis."

Baldwin looked at him, and slowly pushed the tip of the sword away.

"Sed nomini tuo da gloriam." he muttered.

"Amen." John nodded, sheathing his sword.

William had just finished helping the young chipmunk fit all the sacks of supplies onto his back, and was observing the area to try and plot out a new route towards Calais. Their best bet would be to head west, towards the coast, and then to follow the coast northwards until Calais. His only material reference was that of a roughly drawn map he had bought at Marseilles, and of course, his senses.

"What did they say?" the troubadour whispered.

William looked over at the two, who seemed to be reconciling. If anything, John was a very tolerable and understanding chipmunk, and he'd demonstrated it twice already. However, before William could reply, a series of sharp and rough noises hit his ears. They twitched, trying to identify the nature of the sounds. Swords. Now, the shouts of men. Horses. Death.

"What is it, William?" John asked, looking worriedly at him.

"There!" he pointed towards the direction the men had ridden off to earlier.

Although they could not see anything but the interminable fog, there was no need for him to explain anymore. John and Baldwin themselves had been in countless conflicts in the Holy Land, be it a battle or a skirmish, and they knew what a fight was when they heard one. The clash of steel was highly audible, echoing through the woods. John motioned for them to follow, and began to run in the direction.

"And just what are you doing now?" Baldwin called out, just before John disappeared into the fog.

"Settling our differences." he said, and drew his sword.

* * *

**_**All characters, main and supplementary, in this story are chipmunks, but their size and height is roughly equal to that of real men and women. Thus, they are able to ride horses._**


End file.
